


Space Cadet

by captorvatiing



Series: Bropsee for the Soul [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, No Sex, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Sleepy Cuddles, Sloppy Makeouts, but talk about future sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captorvatiing/pseuds/captorvatiing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You probably shouldn’t imagine him doing weird romantic shit that fucking vividly or nearly as often as you do but whatever, fuck doing things by halves."</p><p>Bro gets home late from a long shift of being a tragic 40 year old DJ and gets a nice surprise when he tries to put his loveable idiot to bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space Cadet

Psii’s asleep on the sofa when you sneak in, gangly limbs wrapped around a cushion that he’s absently gnawing at with his crooked eye teeth like an adorable teething kitten. Unlike an adorable kitten he’s got drool sticking to his cheek and his hair is pushed straight up in uneven spikes where he’s still wearing the god awful hello kitty alice band you brought for him last week. There’s a book upturned on the floor, the spine and pages bent at awkward angles where it fell. When you peek at the cover you know straight away that he stole it from the little Vantas and you have to clench your jaw to stifle a laugh. When and how he developed such an incredible appetite for totally utter garbage you have no idea and you can never tell how serious he is about it even with all your hells of sick layers of appreciation for ironic humor, but you kinda dig it. If it’s tacky, low budget or smells like plastic shavings off the floor of a chinese factory he’s on it like a goddamn magpie and shit if you ain't willing to lay the bait. You wonder, as you toe off your shoes and move through the apartment on the balls of your feet, if it’s a genetic predisposition. His little carbon copy has the same kind of leaning for loud noises, slapstick humor and the borderline obscene. You’ve seen him rocking the rubber bangle look too (hell, they might even be sharing tacky jewelry, fucked if you know how that dynamic works) and from what you’ve heard come out of his mouth he’s every bit the “piss admiral dildo fapting” he claims to be. Even the wriggler Captor has the bug from what you’ve heard from the lil man. Sollux has the best worst taste in direct to tv movies of any living being, human or troll, and has been supplying movie night gold from a list that appears to have no end since the movie night tradition began. 

You set your keys down on the kitchen counter with the barest click and hiss through your teeth when you see that the coffee grinder is empty. David Elizabeth fucking Strider. Little shitstain. The two of you are gonna have another bust up if he keeps emptying the pot without refilling it you swear down, no matter how urgently he blames it on Psii. You can’t turn it on now, idiot over there gets scant enough sleep as it is without you bringing down the roof with the grindstep remix of Caffeinate Me so you retreat empty handed and sneak your way back past the couch to Dave’s door.

There’s no noise coming from inside which is a pretty good indication that the kid’s not home since you’re pretty sure he can’t shut his mouth for more than five seconds without suffering an existential crisis but you open the door anyway and peer in. The room is lit just by the glow of his electronics, his computer pumping out blue light and a whisper of music so quiet it’s practically white noise. Under his rumpled covers is a lump that could be him or could be a particularly clever arrangement of puppets set out to hide a late night dalliance but you can’t be fucked to check and risk waking him up too so you just assume it’s him and leave it, shutting the door behind you as soft as you know how.

In the hallway you tip your hat off and run a hand through your thinning hair. Roots need bleaching again really but you can’t be assed and a good hat hides a lifetime of sins. With everyone else asleep there’s nothin’ much for you to do but haul ass and follow suit. You head back through with the intention of grabbing a bottle from the fridge and find Psii sitting up with the cushion still clutched to his chest and his hair still pushed all ways by that stupid fucking hairband, his eyes wide as he blinks the sleepy disorientation away. You kinda imagine him yawning like some cliche anime girl, stretching his arms up until his shirt rides just high enough for you to catch a glimpse of the bottom of the thick scar that sits right where his human happy trail would be and his mouth wide enough to crack his jaw, giving you the perfect view of the shining black tips of his tongue tangled around his mismatched fangs. He doesn’t do that though, he just sits there and blinks until the light fades back into his eyes like mood lighting.

You probably shouldn’t imagine him doing weird romantic shit that fucking vividly or nearly as often as you do but whatever, fuck doing things by halves. 

You open your mouth to drop one of your undeniably sweet lines and go, “Hey.” 

He smiles lopsidedly at you and makes an aborted gesture with his hand that was probably supposed to be a wave. Vocal chords not online then yet which means his brain ain’t either. Awesome. You glance at the clock. Left to his own devices he’ll get off that couch in about five minutes and make coffee, then spend the rest of the night watching infomercials and stalking all his weird Alternian forums but it’s near on four am and that’s not a time any fucker should be getting up, least of all the fucker who’s gonna move around your apartment making noise so you stride (heh) over to him and hold out a hand.

“Alrighty, space cadet, before you go waking up for realios I’m gonna need you to step this way, that’s right up you get and come with me. We’re just gonna wander over there real quick and snuggle the shit out of this whole insomnia thing you’ve got going on. My snuggle game is tighter than my raps. Shit’s so tight bitches call me tylenol...” You keep your voice at a low monotone and rap nonsense as you lead him by the elbow, navigating the flat half backwards until you’ve hauled his ass through the door of your room and clicked it shut behind him. He’s more awake by the time you get there, grumbling and making little complainey clicking noises in the back of his throat as you ditch the accessories and pull your shirt over your head. You wrap your warm hands around his skinny hips and run your thumbs along the sharp jut of his hip bones just under the hem of his sweater and he hums sleepily at you, dipping his head to rest his forehead against yours. He’s still half asleep and you feel kinda bad sneaking your hands up your shirt when he’s all fuzzy like this ‘cause he’s not always super great about being touched but hell, he’s purring and his hands have found their way round to your ass real fucking quick so whatever. And damn, if he’s gonna be so goddamn slender at you all the time what are you supposed to do? 

“Thought you wan’ed t’ sleep.” He murmurs through a yawn as your thumbs trace over the sensitive skin around his grubscars.

“Yeah.” You say, distracted. “Yeah, right I’m gonna- Woah, mother _fucker_! Watch the claws.” 

He snickers and pulls his claws away from here he’d snagged them under your butt, dragging you closer with the palms of his hands. You tweak one of his grub scars as revenge and laugh when he squawks, hooking the hair band off his head and flinging it into some far corner of the room. He sighs as you get your hands over his grub scars proper, rolling your rough palms over them and pulls back only to help you get his jumper off before sliding back into your space easily, shameless about pressing his smooth skin against yours in the darkness. For a few seconds you just adjust your breathing until your chests rise and fall together in time and something tiny and scared in the back of your head screams bloody murder as it recognises what you’re pretty sure are genuine human emotions. Neither of you say anything, and you’re pretty fuckin’ sure that neither of you ever will but your heart speeds up a beat at you think (you hope) that his does too.

“Hey space cadet.” He says. “Are you going to kiss me or are you just going to stare into my eyes like a fucking pansy all morning?” 

Shit, you didn’t even realise you’d been staring. You press your lips to his without further ado. As you’re kissing he squeezes your ass because he’s a classless asshole, but you smooth your hands up his front until you can play at his hair, digging your nails in behind his ears much harder than you would on a human. He sighs and parts his lips, breathing heavily against your mouth as your hands creep up to massage around the bases of his horns and his sneak under your waistband and trail down your back with just the slightest hint of claws. The pointed tips of his tongue flick out to brush your lip and you pull back just enough that he can't reach, suppressing a smirk.

“Thought we were gonna sleep.” You say, and snorts and darts forwards to catch your lip in his teeth. 

The two of you stay joined at the mouth, touching each other’s skin and tugging at each other’s hair as you both shimmy out of your jeans and drop yourselves onto the bed. You end up on top of him, one hand on the smooth flat warmth of his stomach and the other holding your weight above him as you trail feather light kisses along the sharp line of his cheekbones and the twitching edges of his ears. He wriggles beneath you catching your mouth with his again and sucking your lip into his mouth until you moan. Everything feels slow and heavy, his chest vibrating as he chirrs weird alien noises you’ve learnt to interpret as good at you. You brace yourself properly, putting space between the two of you so you can breathe and he grins up at you with that stupid little fork sticking out from between his teeth and fuck, you want him. You want to pin him down and fuck the smirk off his stupid face, but it’s so late it’s edging on early and you just got back from work and you haven’t even showered so you probably stink like vodka and sweat and gods be fucking damned if you’re gonna let anyone near your disco stick when you’ve been sitting in an ass swap all night. Besides, you’re fucking exhausted and you were only supposed to be getting this idiot to sleep. You weren’t even close to horny when you got home, work always sets you up with those knock out vibes and it occurs to you just then that you didn’t actually have to encourage him to get up off the sofa. Now that you think about it, he’d “woken up” just in time to catch you on your way through, even though you hadn’t made a goddamn sound and if he was so fucking sleep addled how was it that he’d managed to wipe his face and…

You silently curse yourself for practising your poker face with your shades on all this time because he’s reading your eyes like a newspaper and he’s fucking giggling.

“You little shit.” You mutter.

“I can’t believe you fell for it.” He says between giggles. You have to roll off him because he’s laughing too hard, one hand splayed on your chest for support.

“The fuck is so funny.” 

“ _Tylenol._ ” He wheezes.

You hit him with a pillow and he cackles.

“Yeah yeah,” you grouch, punching the pillow back into shape on your side of the bed and falling back to stare at the ceiling. “Laugh it the fuck up. You can sleep on the fuckin’ couch.” 

Somehow he manages to get a hold of himself, wriggling closer to you until he’s pressed up tight against your side with his arm wound around your waist. You don’t look but you’re almost certain he’s trying to pull that dumbass pout over his fangs and failing.

“Sorry.” He grins. “You don’t want…?”

You sigh. Goddamn do you want but you’d smell like a drunk donkey and you wouldn’t last two minutes. “Nah. Not tonight.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep,” you say, tucking your arm under his head. “And I’ll think about it.” 

He nuzzles his cheek against your chest and purrs as he settles in with his leg hooked over you. If he feels your hard on against his thigh he at least has the good grace not to mention it. 

“Alright.” He says. “But if you snore my psionics are staying so far from your joy buzzer it’ll be like NBC’s Revolution happened in your asshole.”

You snort and kick him, feeling him snickering against your skin. The two of you shift easily together until you’ve got the blankets dragged up over you and you’re both tangled together and breathing slow. The aircon kicks it up a notch as the hot Texas sun starts creeping through the blinds and you link your fingers with Psii’s and settle in to sleep for real. Everything is comforting where it should be irritating, even the sunrise and the distant beeping of someone’s alarm clock, and despite the way Psii’s breath whistles through his teeth, and how his horns are tilted dangerous close to your sensitive human face, and the fact you’re gonna wake up with his earrings imprinted on your arm, you drift off into an easy sleep.


End file.
